A Mother’s Perpective

It’s Sunday morning, January 11th, 2026 and where do I start?  I’m sitting here reflecting on the loss of my darling son Russell. He was taken from us two and a half years ago at the age of 38. As parents, there’s an emptiness in our hearts that can never be fixed. For his younger brother and only sibling, his spirit is broken.  

Russell was misdiagnosed for over 3 years. His physician saying it was bleeding hemorrhoids. I as his mother, never questioned that…but after losing my mini-me, as I frequently referred to him, I shouldered that blame. Why didn’t I think that perhaps it could be cancer (I won’t capitalize that word, as it deserves no honour). When he moved to B.C., his symptoms worsened. I told him to immediately get another opinion. He did…and we all received his diagnosis…stage 4 colorectal cancer, metastasized with two and half years to live. We felt as a family we were all dying and in reality we were.  

Yvonne McIsaac with her son, Rusell.

My point in sharing our story is DO NOT IGNORE YOUR SYMPTOMS!   No matter how trivial you might think they are, this is your life!  If they are not taken seriously, a second opinion is needed. We as a community also need to push forward as warriors for our loved ones, to lower the national screening age to 45.  This is not an old person’s disease as previously thought. So many of our young people are losing their lives to this monster, colorectal cancer.  We need to stand up and fight for them, with every bit of strength in our beings! 

As always, I will end with this.

My name is Yvonne McIsaac. I am a 66-year-old retired wife and mother of two amazing sons. Our eldest was taken from us at the age of 38, by the monster I refer to as colorectal cancer. It does not deserve to be capitalized due to the horrific pain it has caused us and so many others. For the past 31 years we have lived and raised our family in Rockland, Ontario.   

After losing Russell, I found that fundraising, educating and trying to soothe the pain of others as best I could, made my grief a little kinder and gentler.